Façade
by Caliente
Summary: one-shot ficlet –– No matter which of his faces he's wearing, they still manage to gel together. And it's almost enough—almost. –– Batman/Zatanna; ALPHABET MEME: B is for Beastly


**Author's Notes: **For Marissa who requested Bruce/Zatanna with the prompt beastly as part of the alphabet meme. Although not particularly tied to any canon, I'd probably set it during Dini's run on Detective Comics (so prior to Final Crisis/Batman's death). Unbeta'd, I'm afraid to say, so if there are mistakes, don't hesitate to let me know! Cheers.  
**Disclaimer:** Characters mentioned are used without permission and are trademarks of DC Comics, Inc. I do not own them and am simply borrowing for my purposes. Please don't sue.

**Façade  
**by Bether

Zatanna was staring, she knew she was staring. It was like a car accident, though—she couldn't look away. "Oh, Bruce, that is…" She shook her head. "That's just _beastly_."

Tsking through his teeth, Bruce was all droll playboy. "Zee, _that_ is a one-of-a-kind work of art."

Horrified, she looked at him. "Tell me you didn't pay for that."

He smirked. "_Please_." He sipped from a glass of what looked like champagne but was probably really ginger ale. "It was donated."

She turned back to inspect the so-called art again. "Yeah, I don't care what you say; it's awful."

Leaning down so his lips were a hair's breadth away from her ear, she could hear the smirk in Bruce's voice when he spoke again. "I know. But it's expensive, so all of Gotham's elite have been cooing over it for days now."

"_The Emporer's New Clothes_." Zatanna wasn't sure how to feel about that. It was disappointing when people lived down to expectations but also kind of amusing. "Interesting choice."

Bruce shrugged. "Dick and Tim are enjoying it."

Zatanna patted him on the cheek, smiling sweetly. "Aw, under all the neuroses, you're just a big softie."

Straightening his lapels, Bruce didn't dignify that with a response. "Well, it's been lovely as always, Miss Zatara." He took her hand and gave the back a gallant kiss. "Hopefully we can do it again soon."

"And _you_ are as charming as ever, Mr. Wayne." Out of the corner of her eye, Zatanna could see flashbulbs going off. She decided to give them a show, snapping her fingers to make a card appear and placing it in his jacket pocket. "Llac em." She blew him a kiss and waved coyly as she sauntered off.

As part of the show his eyes followed her. Zatanna added a little swing to her hips, anyway. After all, there wasn't anything wrong with taking advantage of the attention, right?

* * *

Zatanna gagged a little at the sight before her. "Grisly."

From his position crouched by the body, Batman grunted and didn't look up.

"Oh shush." She crossed her arms. "We're not all used to crime by Gotham standards."

"No one invited you," he pointed out in his gravelly Batman voice. "You're welcome to go."

Zatanna smirked. "But I'm also welcome to stay, right?"

Another grunt was all the reply she received.

Squatting beside him, she tried not to focus too much attention on the absolutely mutilated remains. "There was magic involved here, Batman," she told him in a low tone. "I can practically smell it on him." Maybe a poor choice of words considering. "This wasn't just murder—"

"It was a ritual sacrifice," he finished.

Zatanna hated when he did that. "Yeah. You want I should do some digging in the places you can't?"

He looked at her now, not that it made a difference with his cowl on—she still couldn't see his eyes. "Be careful."

It was all the answer she needed. "Of course. Call you when I have something." Zatanna stood again, waving the fingers on one hand in parting. "Ot eht noivilbo rab." And then she was gone.

* * *

Zatanna frowned at the bats hanging upside-down in the cave. Her heels had a habit of clacking when she walked, which she was admittedly fond of while on stage, but might wake the flying buggers and that wasn't what she wanted. "Horrid little things," she muttered, mostly to herself.

Bruce was working at his computer his suit still on but the cowl pulled back. "I thought you said you'd call."

"If memory serves, you said the same thing, Mr. Wayne," she replied saucily, perching on the side of his desk. (He hated when she did that but there weren't any other chairs, so.)

Glancing at her, he shook his head. "You extended the offer but I don't believe I made a commitment of any sort."

Zatanna waved her hand airily. "Details." She snapped her finger and a file appeared in her hands. "Anyway, I wanted to give you this, and I was in the neighborhood, so I figured why not do it in person?"

"Indeed." Bruce didn't seem convinced as he grabbed the file.

Although she let him take hold, she didn't release it. "Uh-uh, what do I get in exchange for my diligent work?" she asked, brows arched high on her forehead.

He matched her expression easily. "You need incentive to do your job now?"

Zatanna leaned forward, grinning. "Doesn't hurt." She let go of the file, anyway.

For his part, Bruce didn't put distance between them again. Instead he smiled a little. (It was a _real_ smile, too, not that of the phony playboy or grim vigilante.) "Thanks for the assist, Zee."

(They'd had a dozen or more moments like this before. Flirtations that were _just_ on the cusp of possibly meaning something but never quite reached. And if he held her gaze a second too long or she let a hand linger on his arm or neither moved away when personal space was invaded, well. Those things could be brushed off without too much thought.

It was the next step that couldn't be so easily set aside. And Zatanna, while not a shy person by any stretch of the imagination, would not be taking the leap. Batman was and would always be passionate about his cause—she understood that. But she needed a man who could be equally passionate about _her_.)

Zatanna leaned back, crossing her arms. "Anytime, Bruce. You know that." She smiled as she spoke but it wasn't as bright as it might've been. Then, with the tip of her hat and a few words muttered backward, she faded from the cave like a ghost who'd never been there at all—an ironic metaphor if there'd ever been one.


End file.
